


How You Live And Breathe

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Ready For The Siege [20]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Insomnia Club, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Dom Natasha Romanov, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Oral Sex, Pegging, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catching the Purple Man doesn't even make a dent in figuring out daily routines. Should it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Backtrack

Wednesday afternoons were once again spent at the VA in Brooklyn with Sam's group. Loki felt absurd and ridiculous and resentful to be there, and had waited until the last minute to rend time and space with a portal to show up. It startled some of the group participants, but they had been well aware of who he was and what he could do. Most of the regulars were there, and he was startled at the recognition he felt and saw in return. Even Therese, who normally scowled at him and seemed indifferent, nodded at him. Her shoulders relaxed, as if his absence had been worrisome to the group.

Sam merely looked at his watch. "I'm sure we all wish we had that trick when running late," he said with a smile. "But I think it's a good time to start today. Thanks for coming in." Looking around the room, hands on the podium, he let the smile slide from his face as he looked at an empty chair in the front row. Loki couldn't remember who usually sat in it, and something like regret knifed through him.

"I got confirmation with the family that it's okay to talk about it. Rusty died last Friday night, complications from his asthma. It was a nasty flare, and there was nothing they could do about it in the ER."

"It wasn't suicide," someone in the group said, relieved.

"No. Which is why I asked Rusty's wife for permission to discuss it. We knew he was wobbling, that he was having trouble carrying his load. But we were his rock, Rochelle was his rock, and he never once thought about it last week. The good Lord decided it was time to bring him home last Friday, and it wasn't his memories, it wasn't his depression."

One of the servicemen pressed a tight fist to his mouth and looked down, as if struggling not to cry. Loki assumed it was a close friend of his. It made him feel more awkward, more like a stranger faking it with these people. He tried to tune out his thoughts, focus on sounds—there was a baby at the clinic, crying in hunger in someone's arms, there were murmured voices of the reception staff, there was something banging repeatedly into a desk—but even that felt false and unworthy to the memory of a fallen soldier.

Someone touched his arm, gingerly, and looked at him in concern. "You okay, man?"

Loki blinked and turned to face the soldier. His face was worn, lined, gray threaded through the neatly trimmed Afro. This man had seen much, suffered much if he was here, yet still had concern for his wellbeing. It was generosity he couldn't understand.

"I suppose. I am... I didn't know him well."

"Me neither," the soldier admitted. "Feels weird. He was a face. Constant. Now he's gone. But I don't feel it. Just..."

"Nothing. A bigger piece of vast emptiness," Loki supplied helpfully.

"Yeah. Like that."

Someone up front was talking about Rusty, about the way he had listened to stories of the Iraq bombings, the callousness of the system, the inefficiencies in the VA. Loki sighed just listening to it. "I'm a fraud."

"No more than the rest of us in the back," the solder pointed out. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Chris Marquez. Retired army. Served back in the first Iraq war."

"Loki." He shook Chris' hand firmly. "But you knew that."

"You're recognizable, yeah. Others said you belonged here, though."

"I have fought before," Loki murmured, letting his hands fall into his lap. His palm itched for a spear or some kind of spell focus. That would calm his stirring panic.

"I wasn't here when you started," Chris continued, unaware of Loki's unease. "They clued me in later when I thought I'd take a chair to your head."

He turned in his seat to stare hard at him. "Why do you tell me this?"

"'Cause they said you actually can be helpful." He smiled at Loki's snort of derision. "Yeah, that was my response, too. I guess I wanted to see if it was true."

"And?"

Chris paused. "Still deciding. I get the feeling you are, too."

Loki didn't have a good response to that. The man was entirely too accurate for his liking.

***

Natasha met Melinda at a café in Greenwich Village and hugged her tightly. "All by yourself?" she teased. "I'm so impressed."

"I leveled a glare and scared the rest of them off. Sometimes the badass reputation helps," she admitted. "I could say the same for you. What happened to your shadows from the party?"

She waited until they were seated to answer. "Loki is... Well, he's Loki. That one's never an easy answer, though he's not quite the homicidal sociopath he used to be. It's contained, I suppose, though I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Probably wise, given his history," Melinda agreed.

"And James..." Natasha's voice faltered a bit. "How much do you know about him?"

"I did some digging since we last met," Melinda admitted. "I figured out he must be the Winter Soldier, since the appearance almost matches the last sightings, and he wore gloves for no discernible reason. But the files themselves are black boxed, Level 10 only."

"I suppose I should feel grateful. Or impressed that they're locked up so tight." She gave Melinda a wry expression. "Clint has a friend who could get you those files if you wanted."

"Skye's a hacker. I'm sure she could find them if I wanted them." Melinda gave Natasha a slight smile and shrugged. "But it's better coming from the source, isn't it? Whatever SHIELD has might be sanitized, or filtered through whatever agencies were in charge of the information."

Natasha sighed and leaned back in her seat. She waited until after their lunch orders were put in, using the time to gather her thoughts. "My own files are pretty heavily redacted, the actual files are all black boxed, too. But I've told you a few things over the years." Melinda nodded and waited, knowing Natasha was still weighing how to put her thoughts into words.

"He was an instructor at the training facility," Natasha said slowly. "A replacement to train the Elites. The prior one had been killed by another of the girls before she cut her own throat. I heard he had been very inappropriate, and nothing had been done about it because of his connections. It hadn't been his only indiscretion." She looked down at the table, at her fingers splayed out on the tablecloth. "There was no name for the Winter Soldier. Asset or American, maybe. But no actual names, not until this time around."

"But you don't need a name to love someone," Melinda said softly.

Lifting her eyes, Natasha nodded. "They punished us, of course. He went back on ice, I was stripped of memories and sent out with personality overlays. There were other kinds of physical punishments. It wasn't meant to be pleasant. It was meant to remind me that I didn't belong to myself, that I had no other identity or purpose other than what they wanted for me."

"Until you broke out."

"I thought I killed him. I burned it all to the ground, and I thought I killed him. And the only one I saved that night couldn't remember me. So it seemed all for nothing."

Melinda leaned back in her seat, digesting that and clearly comparing it to what she knew of the situation. "The information in the databases is lacking on that. But I assume that's Agent Sitwell's doing, not that you didn't disclose that."

Natasha grimaced. "I was as honest as I knew how to be at the time, but I never mentioned James on the initial interrogations. There was no point if he was dead. I didn't talk about Yelena, because there was no point if she wanted nothing to do with me and would have killed me on sight if I pursued her."

"Things changed," Melinda guessed, watching her closely. "I assume, based on the timing of things, that it was the very public display of you as Ambassador to Asgard." She nodded after Natasha's confirmation, and sipped at her water glass. "You're still Ambassador, right?"

"Yes. And apparently Sif is, too, because she's still here."

Melinda's lips quirked at the mention of the warrior. "I liked her when I met her. Very to the point, able to get the job done." At Natasha's questioning look, she grinned. "Sif had to track down Lorelei, a sorceress that manipulated men to do her bidding."

"Of course you caught her."

"Of course. But then, you know a thing or two about having a harem." At Natasha's incredulous look, Melinda rolled her eyes. "All those people that care about you, marks, whoever. People are not immune to your charms. You just don't use them to rule over the realm."

"No," Natasha murmured, seeing their waiter arrive with their lunch. "I know better than that."

"Nat," Melinda began. She gave the waiter a polite smile and waited until he left before leaning in to say something else. "You have made a difference both in this realm and on Asgard. You know you have. What you were trained to be is not what you are."

"Then what am I? I'm trying to come to terms with it. I was trained to be a killer and a spy. It's what I know how to do. I've done that for SHIELD. And when it came to people I cared about, I was supposed to protect them."

Something shifted in Melinda's features. "What happened?"

"I killed Yelena. I slit her throat and held her in my arms as she died."

"There's a story there," Melinda said softly. When Natasha opened her mouth to speak, she reached across the table and tapped her wrist. "I don't need to know it unless you want to tell me about it. But knowing you, there was no other way. You're not a remorseless murderer, Natasha. You don't get joy out of it, you don't look forward to it. Unfortunately, in our line of work, sometimes we can't avoid it."

"If I had done something different, maybe I could have."

"We don't know that."

Natasha's shoulders slumped. "I'm sure that you know she was a killer."

"In the same way that you were."

"Are," Natasha murmured with a heavy sigh. "She loved me. I suppose I loved her back, but not enough. Not how she needed me to. I don't think I ever could have been enough for her. She was too broken by what they did to her."

"Love doesn't save people," Melinda murmured, sympathy in her tone. "Not like that. Not like the movies have it. It's complicated and powerful and makes people do really stupid things sometimes." Her lips quirked slightly when Natasha looked up at her. "Nobody's immune, as much as they would like to be."

"No, I suppose we're not," Natasha sighed again.

"So I understand why you pulled away," Melinda continued in that same tone of voice. "But this is the worst thing to do right now. Isolating yourself will just magnify the pain. I told you, you're supposed to learn from me. That means using me as a negative role model as much as using me as a positive one."

Her laugh was tinged with bitterness. "Better than the ones I had growing up."

"Ever think that you might be a role model for others?" Melinda asked quietly.

The thought paralyzed Natasha. "What?"

"There are some newer agents that look up to your legend within the organization. You've overcome so much, you're capable of so much, you don't take any shit... Why wouldn't you be a role model for them?"

She almost wanted to shake, but Natasha kept herself very still. "I don't see myself as a positive thing for them to be."

"Of course you don't. You were trained not to."

Natasha paused, letting the words rattle around inside for a while. "That could be it."

"Nat," Melinda said gently, "you are more than your history."

"I know that," she replied, annoyed.

"Our histories shapes us, but it doesn't define us. _Shouldn't_ define us."

"You don't even know all of it."

"And I don't have to. I know who you are now. I _like_ who you are now. That's good enough for me and everyone else at SHIELD. Why can't it be good enough for you?"

Chewing her food slowly, Natasha mulled over the words. "I used to shove the past into the darker recesses of my mind. I didn't want to think on it. Triggers were out, it didn't have to be my reality anymore. But I was still too conscious of the balance I have to make. I can't let it stay in the red, Melinda. I can't do that."

"I understand. And I'm not saying you stop that part. But the constant atonement? The guilt you haven't let go of? It's time you let go. Move past it, because you were an amazing agent and you are a wonderful person." She gave Natasha a smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle a little. "And when you call, you're a good friend."

Natasha couldn't help but snort at that. "Says the one that doesn't call either."

"I have an excuse. I drive the bus and keep the newbies safe."

She grinned at Melinda and rolled her eyes. "Oh, you love that," she returned with a smile. "It keeps up the mystique you've cultivated."

"I really _don't_ like the name."

"But you like the way the assholes give you a wide berth."

"Who wouldn't?" Melinda replied with a smirk, unapologetic. "Though sometimes it's a hassle."

"Well, as you've recently pointed out, I'm off book now. I can create an even bigger reputation now. If the infamous Black Widow can outpace the Cavalry..."

Melinda wagged her fork in Natasha's direction. "You're not allowed to call me that, either. Driving the bus or not, I _will_ find you."

Natasha laughed, a tightness easing from her chest that she hadn't realized could ever loosen. As her SO once upon a time, she did value her opinion. It was one thing to say in public that Natasha wasn't a horrible person. But to keep repeating it, even in private, even when she had nothing to gain from it... Melinda was no liar. It had to be true.

And maybe Natasha could even believe it herself.

***

In his dreams, he was in a tight cylindrical tube, about to be flash frozen after being pumped full of various drugs. He hovered between life and death, hallucinatory dreams flitting through his still-conscious mind. Flashes of red and blood, of pain and grief, of trains and planes and fires, of ice and snow and mountains rising up impossibly high all around him.

James didn't sleep much. He didn't need to, given all of the drugs and enhancements he had gotten at Hydra's and Department X's behest. It was just as well he couldn't sleep without the nightmares, with the ghostly press of scientists poking around his arm and keeping track of what his body did in response to their stress tests and field work. He remembered killing, remembered stalking forward with the mission in mind, knowing he was the weapon, he was the fist and gun, he was the one fulfilling the directive.

Natalia kept him human, seeing something more than programming and triggers, believing him to be someone worth loving. He was more than a machine, more than a nameless mass of flesh to do their masters' bidding. In his nightmares, the freezing process kept her far away, erased her from his memory, left him nothing but an empty shell.

And at other times, the memories of horrors kept him wide awake, screaming without a voice, shivering and dreading the licks of dawn against the night sky. Then he would have to pretend to be a human being, to be happy, to be loving, to be more than the sum of fractured parts. Oh, she didn't ask it of him, Natalia never would, but he couldn't worry her. He couldn't be weak in front of the little godling tripping along at her heels. James had looked him up, all the stories and news reports from a few years back. Loki was dangerous, even if he seemed contained, even if he seemed to truly care for Natalia. He was still a wild thing, and James knew all about that kind of feeling. He was alert for dangers _all the time,_ and the caged feeling he had was reflected back in Loki's wild eyes.

Clint knew better than to sneak up on him, and clearly telegraphed his actions if James seemed to be particularly edgy. "I know bad dreams," he had said in a casual kind of way. "Shit happens, and it never really goes away. Wanna hit the range?" he had offered. It had helped a little, throwing knives and even trying a compound bow under Clint's supervision. Guns were too similar to his nightmares, and he would never lose the muscle memory for that. Pistols, machine guns and sniper rifles molded themselves to his palm, too much a part of him to be comfortable when shaking loose a nightmare.

Steve and Sif didn't dance around him or treat him like spun glass, which helped, but sometimes Steve seemed to be part of the problem. How could he let Steve take on his memories? How could the blood wash from his troubled soul onto Steve's? It was bad enough he remembered wanting to punch in Steve's face until his skull collapsed, peeling apart the layers of his body until the spine was exposed and pouring blood.

Thor worried about doing something to set him off, which was irritating; he felt like a live bomb a second away from exploding. Tony was like that at times, as was Jane and Pepper. Then again, they weren't enemy combatants. They didn't know what would trigger James into fight or flight mode, and James tended to fight. It was all that had been wanted of him, after all.

Loki at least appreciated his vigilance. He was able to sleep in James' presence, and he wasn't sure if that was a compliment or insult. Was James not a threat? Or did he simply feel safe enough to let his guard down? There had been a handler like him once, years ago, who laughed as if James' entire history was nothing more than a joke. "I can make you do anything," Tarasov had laughed, eyes glinting with malice. "I can make you be anything I want you to be, and there is no one to stop me."

No one but James, the one time his programming broke, and Tarasov hadn't been worth saving.

Not wanting to remember this, he launched himself from Natasha's suite and roamed the hallways and rooms that were open. He was being tested. This was only a test. It meant nothing, not in the long run, it didn't mean he was a failure. Failure wasn't tolerated, so he couldn't be a failure, couldn't run down or break.

James stopped short when he saw Bruce contorted on a yoga mat, eyes closed as he breathed slowly through the pose. He turned to leave, not wanting to interrupt, when Bruce called out "It's okay, you know. I don't use much space in here."

"No, it's all right. I'm not doing anything important."

"Huh. Maybe you should."

Pausing at the door, James frowned. "I'm a criminal."

"Not if you don't actually exist. Sometimes that's an awful, frightening thing," Bruce said, eyes opening. He unfolded himself and then got to his feet. "And at other times, it's actually freeing. You're not bound to who you used to be."

"Yeah, well, you're... You help."

"I'm the Hulk," Bruce said flatly. "You don't have to avoid it out of pity."

Frowning deeper, James shook his head. "Wasn't."

"So what did you mean?"

At those quiet words, James paused. He hadn't really interacted with Bruce much at all. He tended to stay in the labs with Jane and Tony, sometimes coming out to talk with the others. He was certainly friendly enough, and liked the company. There was still a reserve about him, as if he was afraid of confrontation or chaos. It never occurred to James that perhaps Bruce was was still _lonely._

"You're one of them. An Avenger. You got a place, and I don't."

"They'd make a place for you. Like I said, you don't exist. I'm sure you'd get all kinds of paperwork and opportunity if that's what you wanted."

James pursed his lips as he thought. "I don't know. I never had the choice before."

Bruce nodded, expression nonjudgmental. "And it's been so long since you had options. It's not freeing, then. It's paralyzing."

"Yeah."

"Nightmares," Bruce guessed. "Flashbacks. Constantly on alert, dreading what will come next."

"Yeah."

"Your body's not your own. Stuff around you isn't real."

"Yeah." James glowered at Bruce. "How'd you know? Natalia wouldn't tell you."

"You think you're the only one here that feels that way?"

That threw him for a bit, and James shook his head. "But it shouldn't be that way for you."

"I turn into a monster. Some of the others feel like one. What's the difference?"

"You're not a monster," James protested, taking in the calm scientist in front of him.

"I know what I am. I've always known. The radiation brought it out of me. The serum—any serum, no matter how they put it together—always magnifies what's there. It makes you more of who you are. It can't augment or transform what doesn't exist." He shrugged. "When you're the most out of control is when it's hardest to remember that. When it feels like everything is falling apart, that's when I feel him closest."

"So then how do you stop it?"

"I had to develop a few tricks to staying calm, not letting the big guy out. I can't let him hurt anyone, you know. And he can. He doesn't always, he doesn't want to, but that doesn't mean he won't. The Other Guy isn't about control."

James thought about how it must feel to be so out of control that there was no stopping the tidal wave of destruction. He'd felt that way before, of course. And surprisingly, there was no anger to go along with that feeling. "But if you control it for him, how will he ever learn?"

That thought seemed to throw Bruce, who paused with lips pursed. "I don't know if he can," Bruce said finally. "He wasn't built for that."

"He doesn't have handlers. He doesn't have directives and programming," James said bluntly. "So he has his own choices that he can make."

"Then so can you."

"But I don't know what I want," James shot back, aggrieved.

"Then maybe it's time you found out," Bruce replied, unperturbed. "I know for myself, I need some activity, some opportunity to sink into my body. Feel it as _me,_ not the Other Guy, something that's mine. Then I feel ready for research."

"Sink in your body," James echoed, brows furrowed as he contemplated the words. They felt right, somehow. Sometimes he didn't feel like he was in his body at all. Or that it wasn't real, it belonged to someone else. The metal arm threw him on those days, a horrible thing that reminded him he wasn't whole, he wasn't himself, he wasn't _Bucky_ or _James_ or whoever else he was supposed to be.

Bruce's words about trauma and his own physical reactions resonated with James. Names of researchers and physicians wafted over his head, but it occurred to him that Natasha mentioned a therapist she had started seeing, however reluctantly, to deal with her own grief and trauma. She had seen the therapist three times so far, and didn't seem to loathe the experience. Bruce hadn't had the opportunities to see a therapist in his world travels, and mentioned massage therapy and yoga as helpful for him to stay grounded.

James abruptly sat down on the floor in front of Bruce. "Can you teach me? I need something to settle this oddness. It's not programming, it's not dysfunction in my body. But it's not something I understand anymore, either. It doesn't always feel like mine."

"Maybe because for a long time, it wasn't," Bruce suggested gently. "I'm not a therapist, you know. I don't know these things for sure. But this worked for me."

"Then it'll work for me, too," James said firmly. "I need to do this, to be good enough outside this tower." To be good enough for Steve and Natasha, to be certain he wouldn't flash back to a time when he had been the Winter Soldier, so he could look at Sam and not feel the horrible guilt for shooting him in Japan.

"Maybe you could be part of the team, too," Bruce suggested. "I can't always go, not when the other guy could be a danger. But you could go in when I can't. You can help then."

Testing the idea in his mind, James waited for a sense of helpless terror. It didn't come.

"Hm," he murmured, noncommittally. "We'll see once I get the hang of this."

Nodding, Bruce started to go through his usual routine, James following suit.

***  
***


	2. Dealing With Nightmares

Clint, Natasha, James, Bruce and Jane met up with Sam and Steve for dinner downtown. "No Sif or Thor?" Natasha had asked in surprise. She had thought it was going to be a larger group outing than the seven of them.

"They went back to Asgard for a brief stint," Jane explained. "Someone making problems for them that they wanted Sif's help with. Thor went along with, though Sif clearly told him to stay here because he was going to be pretty useless."

"Not in those words, exactly," Steve commented. "Sif was nice about it."

"As nice as you could possibly be saying that menfolk are weak punks," Sam added, snorting in amusement. "I didn't know Thor did embarrassed, but he was."

"Lorelei," Natasha guessed, remembering her conversation with Melinda. At Jane's nod, Natasha allowed herself a smile. "Well, corrupting the minds of men is kind of her schtick."

"Assuming we got minds to corrupt," James joked.

Steve went still for a moment, unsure if he should laugh along with James and Natasha, or if this was a veiled commentary about his time as the Winter Soldier. Sam bumped his shoulder in support, and he relaxed a bit. "I can keep my head around a pretty dame," he said lamely, hoping James didn't notice his freezing.

"Assuming you don't actually like her in the dating sense," James retorted with his old shit eating grin. It reminded Steve so much of his pre-serum days, he couldn't even be sore at James for bringing it up. That was such a Bucky thing to say that he laughed along with everyone else and shook his head.

"How long did they say it was going to be?" Natasha asked Jane.

"They weren't sure," Jane replied, shrugging. "But Heimdall was nice enough to say that he would try his best to make sure our timelines match up. I haven't figured out the physics behind the weird flow in time between our realms. But as long as two of his months isn't two of our years, I think I'll be okay."

Clint frowned. "It's really weird how that works. Is it a dimension-jumping thing, you think? Like if somehow there was space travel between our planets instead of a portal, time would sync up better?"

"The distance is so prohibitively distant that it would take generations to get there," Jane replied. "So I'll take a few months of disconnect rather than generations."

"Makes you wonder if there are beings out there that live longer than they do," James mused aloud. "Or shorter. Or if it's all relative." He frowned suddenly. "I don't think that made sense."

"Sure it did, Buck. Just because Asgardians live for five thousand years or so, it might not be _our_ years. Or because of the strange way time works."

"You think about it because of your relationship with Sif," Bruce guessed.

"It's made me more aware of it," Steve agreed.

James flicked his gaze onto Natasha. "So that's what you mean Loki will eventually be devastated. You mean when you die."

Clint frowned as she nodded. "He already didn't do well while you were away."

"He's not exactly all that stable," Bruce commented. "Better than when he tried to take over New York, but that's probably not saying much."

"Let's change topic," Natasha said abruptly, eyeing the door. "The last time I talked about him with friends in a public place, he simply showed up as if I had called."

"Probably the magic bond mojo," Clint remarked. "He knows if you're in trouble or not. It probably works like a messaging system of a sort."

Natasha snorted. "Magic text messaging? Not what it's cracked up to be at all."

"Well, we know that magic is somewhat related to radiation. At least of the gamma variety," Bruce offered. "I've come up with different ways to scan it in action..." He smiled when Natasha lifted her phone. "Right. Like that tracking app we developed. The different kinds of magic and spells all have different resonances."

Jane perked up. "So maybe it might be a good side project. Why don't you call in Dr. Ross? She's another renowned gamma expert."

Bruce managed to hide his wince. "I know Betty. Um... I've been trying to keep her out of it. The people interested in gamma radiation aren't always scientists."

"Right," Jane scoffed. "Like anyone at this table would allow the military to kidnap her."

James outright glowered and lifted his gloved metal fist. "Just tell me who's got 'er, Bruce, I'll help bring her back. I wouldn't want anyone else going through what I did."

No one edged away, which was gratifying to Steve. He didn't always know how to deal with the random outbursts or tossed off comments. Ignoring them probably wasn't the way to go either, but he didn't know how to approach it. People didn't talk about this sort of things when they were growing up, and shell shock really hadn't been discussed in the army.

Jane and Bruce explained that Betty wasn't kidnapped by the army, though her father was a general and there was no love lost between him and Bruce. She had left military sponsorship to academia, so her work had fewer applications that the military might be interested in. "I e-mail her every once in a while," Bruce admitted. "She won't even take work at Oscorp or any other company that might even do contract work. Tony talked about hiring her on, but we all know he'd be just creating a position just for her."

"You mean like he did for us?" Jane pointed out. She pointed at him with her fork. "Trust me when I tell you, she'd jump ship. Trying to do applications for grants or sponsorships can make you drop IQ points."

This touched off a discussion between public work and private companies, which left most of them unable to comment. Steve was about to suggest something else as a topic of discussion when he noticed Natasha whispering something to James, brows drawn in slightly and her hand on his arm. He couldn't recognize the shape of any words she was saying, so it probably wasn't English or French. There were very few Russian words he could recognize, let alone lip read, so he turned away to give them privacy. He liked the idea of the two of them supporting each other, of having found someone to understand their darker moments. They needed someone that could understand and be there unconditionally; as much as Steve wished he could be that person, he doubted he would ever truly understand what James had gone through. He tried his best, and James had said he appreciated the effort.

Of course, his own nightmares didn't bother him much anymore. Or the flashes of wartime, dead faces and sound of explosions. Or the helplessness that came in his sleep, where he couldn't even lift the shield anymore, and the super soldier serum had faded.

"You know, the Avengers are kinda like a club, I think," Clint was saying in response to something Sam said. "We can play the game of who's least fucked up, but I for one think that's a shitty contest to play."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, frowning.

"We're all traumatized in some way. I think even Jane is, considering you hang out with us so much. Secondhand trauma, just from worrying about us."

"Don't forget, you and your fellow agents stormed into my space in Puente Antiguo and took my research," she reminded him. "Darcy called you all jackbooted thugs."

Natasha didn't even bother to smother her snort of amusement.

"If the boot fits," Clint replied with a grin. He turned to James, leaning in intently. "So. What do you think?"

"Bruce mentioned something—"

"Because he's a reasonable guy. C'mon, I could use a fellow sharpshooter on the team."

James froze in place, though only Natasha and Steve seemed to catch it. No, Sam did, too, because he deliberately knocked over his beer, sending its contents crashing into Clint's lap. The two exchanged glances, and Sam gave Steve a surreptitious nod.

"Back off, Clint," Sam said mildly. He helped dab at the beer, but only ground it in further into the denim. "If he feels like hanging out with the rest of you, he will. Looks like a sausage fest to me. I don't think it's weird he'd rather hang back with Natasha."

"Thanks. I think," James said, frowning slightly.

"She's _fine,"_ Sam said, giving Natasha the same kind of playful leer he used to at their old poker games. "Of course she'd want a guy that can keep up with that hotness, and for the sake of your ego I respectfully bowed out of the competition."

That sent off some playful jokes all around the table, preventing the conversation from taking a more serious tone. James didn't seem worse for wear, so Steve could only suppose it was another trigger of some kind. Was he flashing back to the Winter Soldier days or Howling Commandos? Steve would have thought the Commandos days were pretty good, though there had been their fair share of death then, too.

There was no right way or wrong way to do this, was there?

Steve thought of that later, when he nearly walked in on Natasha and James in one of the hallways beyond the common areas. He was cradled in Natasha's arms, struggling to breathe evenly. "...want to, I do, but I don't know how to be good enough for it."

"The same way the rest of us do," Natasha had told him quietly, stroking his back. "We're all flawed, James. Some more than others. Even Steve, you know. He's not some kind of perfect golden god. None of us are perfect, and we do the best we can. You're a good man. You wouldn't worry about honoring the group if you weren't."

He had looked up, anguish on his features, eyes searching hers. "I have to earn it."

Natasha caught his face in her hands, a tender expression on her face. "You do. You will. Every day you get up and keep fighting the memories back, you keep going past them. You're not letting Department X win, James. That makes you worthy."

"It can't be that easy."

"As easy as balancing my ledger is."

They shared some bitter laughter, and then James noticed Steve standing nearby. He blanched and nearly pulled away from Natasha's tiny frame.

"Don't, Buck," Steve murmured with a sigh. "C'mon, let's go ten rounds."

"No, it's not a good idea—"

"I get feeling down or like the nightmares won't end, I take it out on a couple of bags. I tend to break 'em after about fifteen or twenty minutes." Steve paused. "Sometimes it helps get the restless out. It's not like I could really damage my hands, but if I can feel 'em and start to get a little winded, I don't think about nightmares."

James frowned at him. "I don't get it. Why do you have nightmares?"

"You think I really wanted to kill anybody? Beat 'em down or watch my friends die?"

James remained stock still, even when Natasha rubbed at his spine sympathetically. "Steve—"

"We won't know if it'll help until we try, right?" Steve asked. "I don't know any other way to help, but I want to."

He let out a sigh and scrubbed at his jaw. "There are things from the Winter Soldier days that I remember that I wish I didn't. I could head out, find the safe houses, the weapons left in the field. Hunt 'em down, maybe."

"James," Natasha murmured, shaking her head. "Not the way we did it with Yelena."

"But there are dangers I can still prevent. I think maybe that's what I've been looking for."

"Your way to atone," Steve murmured. When James nodded, Steve shrugged. "Want help?"

Startled, James merely looked at him. "It's not your fight."

"Bullshit. You've always been my family and my friend, Buck. Your fight's always been mine, same as when I was a little guy and you jumped in to finish mine."

"If he helps, you know I will. And Sam will. And then you've got Clint who will rush in. Maybe Loki would. Then because of the research opportunity _that_ poses, you loop in Bruce and Jane and Tony." Natasha smirked at James' startled expression. "You're not alone, _Жизнь моя,_ not ever again."

"Way to gang up on a fella," James muttered, shaking his head. But his lips carried the faint edge of a smile. "You all got fancy nicknames for your work. What'll I use?"

"Use the Winter Soldier," Steve told him gravely. "Take back the name, make it yours. Don't let them use it against you. You're a soldier that's been through it all, to the end of the line and back, and I think you can turn it around." He let his lips quirk into a smile. "Captain America used to be just a show and a photo op, remember?"

"This is a little more serious than show tunes," James told him, irritation in his tone. "The Winter Soldier is a ghost. A fairy tale to scare mercenaries with."

Steve shot him a grin. "Well, good. Then nobody will mess with you."

That threw James. He saw the support on Steve's and Natasha's face, and something in his stance eased a bit. Steve hoped James realized that he wasn't trying to force him to do anything he didn't want to do, didn't want him uncomfortable or in pain. But Steve learned to push past and through his, cover it up with smiles and snark. So did the others. It was the only way they knew how to be, how to live with everything in the past.

"I'll think on it," James promised. That was more than good enough for Steve.

***

James had his nightmares, Natasha had hers. Sometimes they woke each other, sometimes not; by unspoken agreement, they didn't wake up the other from a sound sleep. It wasn't as if they discussed their nightmares anyway. What would be the point? Times had changed, and Natasha wanted to move past the trauma of the Red Room. It wasn't as far behind her as she thought it was, and she couldn't tolerate that.

This particular evening, Natasha jerked awake and her heart was in her throat – _blood tumbling down, over and over and over, dead eyes staring back at her, nothing good ever happens when I'm looking for it, why did I think this would ever be better, I'm sliding backward and I won't be good for anybody!_ – but James wasn't sitting on alert or sprawled in the bed beside her. Figuring he went to the gym, she went directly there. It wasn't a complete surprise to see him and Steve going full tilt with boxing gloves. It was a little bit of a surprise that there were kicks as well.

"Since when did you practice capoiera?" Natasha teased Steve.

He merely grinned at her. "After seeing how effective your style is and picking up a few moves in our practice sessions. Got into it more while you were up in Asgard."

The three of them settled into a rough triangle and started to fight in earnest. Natasha didn't much care that they had their hands wrapped and in gloves while hers weren't. The healing spells would kick in and repair the damage to her knuckles, and the pain was sharp enough to ground her and drive away the last shaky remnants of her nightmares. She knew how to move through pain, and the familiarity of it helped draw her forward and out of the past.

Eventually they tired and decided a good hour or more of fighting was more than enough for the early morning hours. Passing through the common area for drinks, Natasha was startled to see Clint playing video games on the big screen TV, headphones on. His hearing had worsened a bit more, but appeared to be at a stable state of loss now. The doctor had suggested hearing aids, but Clint was a bit reluctant to be singled out. Keeping the volume for everything at 175% wasn't a good solution, either, however.

He startled badly when Natasha touched his shoulder to get his attention. "Oh, hey," he said, yanking off the headphones. They had the extra padding around the edges to make a good seal; now broken, she could hear the background music of the game blaring. "I see we have new members to the Avengers Insomnia Club," he snarked, seeing Steve and James in the doorway. "Hey, Barnes, how are you with a game controller? We could totally play Mario Kart."

Natasha wasn't fooled by the false cheer, but didn't want to say anything to him in front of the others. "That game can end friendships," she remarked.

"Nah, that's Monopoly or Uno."

"So, what topics are off limits?" Clint asked loudly as he loaded the video game. At James' and Steve's blank looks, he sighed. "Look, no point ignoring the fact that we're all up at four am and have been for a while. You don't get this far in our careers without getting a little trauma, and nothing good ever happens at four am."

"Oh, I'm sure there's something..." Steve began.

"Name one."

No one could think of anything offhand, and Clint nodded as if to say "I rest my case." He distributed controllers, and there were a few minutes of hilarity as he tried to teach James how to use them. Steve tended to be a button masher when he played with Clint, so they usually did old school fighter games like Tekken, the original Mortal Kombat or Street Fighter. James got the hang of it easily, and for a while no one spoke.

"If nothing's off limits," Clint began as they all went into the second lap, "I'll go first. Nightmares fucking suck, and this trauma thing is crap. But pretending like it's not there isn't going to make it go away, either." He flicked his eyes toward Natasha. "You've seen that therapist like three times, right?"

"Four," Natasha replied in a clipped tone of voice. Her grip on the controller wasn't too tight, but her body language clearly told him to shut up.

Clint never did follow her signals if he didn't feel like it, and this was no different. "And let me guess, you're talking about early shit, not the stuff going on right now."

She remained silent, not wanting to answer. Of course he was right, and of course the therapist was too new, didn't know anything about her history, and it was easier to delve deeper into the fragments of memory than to say how her guilt was bound up in memories of Yelena bleeding to death in her arms, of Clint's shocked expression as the bullets ripped into him, of the fall over the side of the building, of thinking that she had killed James all over again.

"Maybe you need to lay off her," James said, hitting the buttons too hard. Good thing Tony had thought to reinforce the controllers. Thor sometimes broke them, and Bruce had sometimes been afraid that letting the Hulk out would mean he randomly broke things he touched.

"Maybe you're laying off too much," Clint returned. "Maybe ignoring it doesn't mean it's going to get better. I've done this for years, I'm not a complete asshole about this. We've danced around topics, we've talked without talking. We pretend it's not there. But you know what? I'm sick of the silence. I know I can't hear as well as I used to, and that was even compromised. But now I lost the nuances. I can't hear the warnings as well as I used to. I can't hear when you're coming, I can't tell by how you step if it's a good day or a bad one. I can't tell by the pitch in people's voices if shit is going down. I can only tell by how you stand, what your facial expressions are, but that's only good if I'm facing you."

"So get the damn aids," Natasha snapped.

"Why? So you can keep dancing around me, too? So you can think I'm broken?"

She was so startled she actually dropped the controller. It didn't matter if she was dropping back to fourth place. Natasha stared at him. "I don't think you're broken. Why the hell would you think that? Why aren't you thinking _I'm_ the one with the issues?"

"Because you fall into the same horrible habits, but you at least used to tell me about the bad shit as it happened. I get it, there's juggling Barnes and Loki and trust me, that is a headache I want no part of. But the other stuff. You used to at least mention that."

Natasha leaned forward and grabbed his arm tightly enough he would have bruises later. "I needed you to think I was the same. That I'm okay."

"Well, that's just stupid. You're not. Nobody here is."

"So we're all a bunch of idiots?" James asked.

"Seems that way," Steve said, tossing the controller aside. "Now what?"

Clint let his character zoom past the finish line. "Now that I've kicked your asses," he said with a grin, "I suggest we get an early breakfast, a pot of coffee each and figure out what we're doing with the rest of the day. Having a whole lot of nothing won't help, I promise you. C'mon, would I ever steer you wrong?" he asked in a teasing lilt.

"Yes," Natasha replied promptly. They both dissolved into laughter, their old easygoing routine back in place. She looped an arm through James' and nodded toward the kitchen. "But not with breakfast. C'mon, James. I'll even make you pancakes."

"I think I like those," he allowed.

"Everyone loves pancakes, Bucky," Steve replied with a grin. "Trust me, you'll remember that one. Syrup's too sweet and the butter's different, some kind of yogurt thing, but it's still really good. We can put strawberries on top."

"No foolin'?" he asked, eyebrow lofted. "I always liked those."

Natasha filed that bit of information away with a smile. They'd never learned things like that about each other before. It would be fun introducing him to new things.

***

Loki was snappish and irritable, anxiety and unnamable awkward emotions writhing beneath his skin. He didn't feel entirely comfortable asking Natasha for what he needed, not since the night of the gala when he had simply been with her and James and _was,_ without the trappings of control and dominance. But whether it was the investigation – no, not likely, that was hardly any effort on his part – or the clawing sense of wrongness at being _wanted_ at Sam's PTSD group therapy meeting but not at any outings the others would go on, he couldn't say. He didn't need their paltry dinners or lunches, but it would have been nice to at least been offered a chance to attend. If he had been considered at all.

She knew something was wrong with him, but he refused to say and sound like a mewling child still on leading strings. Instead, he hurled an insult at Bruce, quietly reading a journal article while drinking herbal tea. Loki couldn't even remember what he said, but Bruce had gone unnaturally still. He had a faint _frisson_ of worry that the Hulk would appear, no matter how good Bruce's control was, and he suddenly regretted not getting a formal series of dates each month for his deal with Natasha. When he'd told her Wednesday wasn't a good day to meet, he never reset it to a different day.

Damn and blast, he truly was an idiot sometimes.

James was at his side and yanking him to his feet with only a flick of Natasha's eyes. Oh, she was _good,_ and his knees knocked together and his mouth watered with _want_ at the sight of her command.

"I'll take care of this, Bruce," Natasha promised, a slight grimace in Loki's direction. "I suppose it was too much to hope that he wouldn't be a nuisance."

"He's not wrong," Bruce tried to say, a quaver in his voice.

Oh, he was going to _get it._ Loki wanted to preen and strut for Natasha, because his retribution was going to be _glorious._

"Of course he's wrong!" Natasha cried immediately. Ever to the defense of her friends, ever quickly to absolve others of blame she regularly took onto herself. Loki did manage to suppress his smile and snort as Natasha unleashed a litany of his faults, first and foremost his preternatural ability to lie without lying.

There was more, but James frog marched him out of the sitting area and into the kitchen, nearly slamming him into the counter. "You don't malign him," James hissed, eyes flashing. Had he also gotten chummy with the Hulk? But no, it wasn't likely. More likely was that Bruce was a neutral friend, calm and unshakable, teaching him how to deal with trauma and how to achieve a zen sense of peace. Or perhaps he took on Natasha's friends as his own, defending them as neatly and surely as she would.

"Oh, but it's what I _do,"_ Loki said, unable to hide his smile now.

"Because you're a little shit sometimes," Natasha said, coming into the kitchen. Eyes flashing, she was as regal in her casual clothing as she was in royal Asgardian dress or the fetching green gown she wore at the Natural Museum of History. "I know what this is about," she said after a moment, seeing his slick grin.

"Oh? Do enlighten me?" Loki purred, as if James didn't have his arms pinned at his sides and was holding him immobile.

"Our deal was suspended. And you're in desperate need of a session."

_Yes._ He wanted to shout it from the rooftop, but he settled for simply grinning madly at her, sharp teeth and glittering eyes, need rolling from him in waves. "Am I?" he managed to ask in a calm tone.

He didn't fool her at all. Of course. Her eyes narrowed. "You go to the apartment now. James and I will follow the long way." So they would take the subway, leaving him to take a portal. How inconvenient and such a delicious torment. Of course he would do it. He would follow her rules, he would do as she asked to get her hands on him.

Taking the long way meant that he was agitatedly stalking through the small Astoria apartment with nothing to do until she arrived to start the session. He laid out several tools he had interest in, reverently stroking the riding crop and flogger as he put them down on top of the dresser. If she wanted to do anything else, he would accept it, but he wanted her to mark him. He could still remember the welts in her skin when he had spanked or struck her, and his mouth watered at the thought that she would do the same to his pale skin. The marks would stand out so beautifully, and it would be something he could keep for a time. James wouldn't submit to that, he knew, though James also would never force Natasha's hand to do such a thing.

Natasha was irritated with him, and immediately had him kneel down in the living room once the apartment wards and alarms were up and in place. Loki grinned at her, sharp teeth and manic edge in place, _need_ gnawing at his insides. He repeated the safe words to her satisfaction, just a touch of insolence in his tone. Natasha grabbed him by his hair, loose and wavy instead of slicked back, yanking him to his feet. He was still hunched over because of the height difference, the sharp tugs in his scalp like little needs pricking his skin. "That disrespect will cost you," she said, her own teeth bared.

She didn't enjoy this, necessarily, but she was _his_ in this moment, no thought of anyone else, no care for the taciturn man at her side. She could take it out of his hide, could do whatever she liked, as long as she was his.

Walking into the bedroom, Natasha was less than pleased by the preparation he'd made. "You don't dictate terms, Loki," she snarled. The sound was glorious, and he couldn't help but laugh at the sound of it. The slap against his face was a delicious sting, and he dimly wondered when he needed _this_ to feel whole again.

"The bottom drawer has heavy chains," she told James. "Chain him down."

A real lick of fear curled around his gut, but this was Natasha. She wouldn't hurt him any more than was necessary, any more than he wanted her to. She was fire and brimstone, divine retribution for the awful things he had done. This was what he deserved, what he wanted, what he begged for, her hands on him, all over him, working him until his mind could simply _stop_ and he was empty of the ugliness inside.

Still caught in her grip, Loki was marched over to the bed, where he was unceremoniously bent over, each wrist chained to the posts at the footboard of the bed. A loop of chain draped over the back of his neck, weighing him down. Shivering at the memory of the cave and Amora and the venom burning into his body, he grit his teeth against it and forced it away. Natasha was not Amora, would never be her. Natasha would not glory in his misery. She did her best by him, was honest with him, had been unflinchingly clear about her expectations with this deal.

It was his own fault he loved her to distraction, not hers.

She had him recite his litany of sins, and yes, yes, yes, he was awful and horrible. The lies and misdirection, half truths and silences, absences when he could have helped in more tangible ways, the clawing sense that he _was not good enough,_ that he was a fraud, that he was a monster in humanoid skin, the awful things he said, the way he goaded her into this instead of simply asking to start again after they said they would. He had fallen back into his old ways, flitting about her, hesitant to intrude on the relationship she had with James, not wanting to see how little he really mattered. And it circled, over and over and over, feeding upon itself, a vile ouroboros that would consume him, would trigger his personal Ragnarok, would devour any sliver of happiness he didn't already destroy.

He cried out when the paddle came down over his bared skin. He hadn't even noticed her cutting the clothes off his body, how she hadn't allowed him the dignity of undressing for this, and his soul sang at that. She owned this, she was exerting her will over his, she would take care of this, she would rein him in, Natasha was in control and would keep him from spiraling away from all that he worked so hard to build for her. Counting out the strokes was a glory, a privilege, just punishment for nearly ruining what she tried to build for him. He wasn't as good as she was, he couldn't do the same for her even when he tried so hard, but he was _trying,_ he simply couldn't make it work, didn't understand how to _be._

Throat raw from his cries, he counted out the numbers as they climbed ever higher, James' metal hand on the back of his head to help keep him from thrashing around. But he wasn't fighting back, was he? Loki wanted this, wanted the reminder of her, wanted her hands on him, wanted her to fuck him however she wanted, wanted her to use him, wanted her here, just wanted and wanted and wanted, an incoherent wish he no longer had the words for as the paddle came down over his skin.

And then it stopped, making him howl in frustration. Now he pulled at the chains, but they were heavy, his magic suppressed, and he started screaming in Allspeak.

The lick of the flogger against his sore skin startled him, calmed him. Grounded him. James pulled back on his hair, dragging his eyes from the nonsensical patterns on the coverlet to stare at his very blue eyes. Of course he was beautiful. Why wouldn't Natasha like beautiful things? Why didn't Natasha deserve such things?

"I should make you suck him off," Natasha said crudely when the flogger fell still. "Or have him fuck this red ass of yours."

He shuddered, pulling at his limbs from the chains. Stuck fast, Loki gulped and tried to remember how to speak. "Please," he rasped.

The flogger fell to the floor, and there was a sussurus behind him. James jerked on his hair, blue eyes flashing in warning. "Are you begging, Loki?"

"If I have to," Loki said, voice hoarse from crying out so much. "Anything."

"Anything?" James taunted. The sound of it was ugly, scraping at Loki's insides. "You'd beg me to fuck you? You'd beg me to do that to you?"

Shuddering again, Loki tried to shake his head. But James still had his hair in a tight grip, so it tugged painfully and likely pulled some of his hair out. "Not that. I can't. I'll call it. I'll use it. I've only used it once, I can't. I can't—"

But then there was a soothing and cool balm against the fire in his skin, Natasha's hands kneading it into him. "I know you can't," Natasha said. "You can be many things, but not that, even for me."

Loki sobbed, feeling a spike of disappointment for not being able to please her. "I can't," he sobbed, eyes sliding shut so he didn't have to look at James anymore. "Please, please, Natasha, I can't, I can't do this anymore, I can't—"

"Sh," she said. It was soothing sound, but different than before. Her slim fingers were slicked and sliding into his ass, stretching him, preparing him. She made nonsensical sounds as she worked him open, and it was comforting. But there were different tones there, a sadness that he hadn't heard the first time she pegged him, the other times after the deal was struck in the beginning. So much loss since then, so much hurt, some of it at his hands, and so much he hadn't been able to fix.

The stretch was uncomfortable, her clothing rough against his sensitized skin. But he took it, tolerated the feel of James' hand in his hair and on his shoulder as well as the chains, cried out in pleasure as she pounded into him, as she wrung him dry, dragging every sensation out of him, reduced him to jelly, had him coming in spurts on the coverlet. And still she rode him hard, hips snapping and digging into his ass. Loki made hoarse, unintelligible sounds that were supposed to be words, perhaps begging for release from her ministrations, perhaps for release from all that made him unwanted and unlovable.

Loki nearly sobbed as his body reacted to Natasha's silicone cock still pounding into him. The rhythm was perfect but relentless, not allowing him to catch his breath. The keening noise he heard was himself, struggling to breathe. She was reducing him to nerve endings, sensation only, pure pleasure, and it was exactly what he wanted. James shifted his grip when Loki writhed and tried to pull away from him, but instead of being harsh, the man cradled his head gently, almost as a parent would cradle a crying child.

Oh. He was crying, too, drooling and sobbing into the coverlet, cock jerking and spurting irregularly onto it lower down. Loki couldn't find it in him to feel ashamed.

Natasha wrenched another orgasm from his wrecked body. The pleasure was almost too much for him to bear, blurring the boundary back over into pain. But he deserved this, didn't he? She tortured him so exquisitely, contained and constrained him, gave him boundaries and enforced them, gave him room to move and even lead on occasion.

By the Tree, she was _perfect._

He must have said the words aloud, because her slicked palms went down his back as her hips slowed down and he fell back from that overwhelming edge. "Sh," she crooned. "Sh, we've got you, Loki."

She must have nodded or signaled James in some way, because he started to remove the heavy chains and helped lift him up onto the bed. Loki could barely move his limbs. He was loose limbed, wrung out, emptied of everything. He was new, scrubbed clean, completely at their mercy. Yet he loved this feeling, that all was right, that he was floating inside his own body, peace found at last.

Natasha stroked his chest and pressed her lips against his temple. "We've got you. We've got you. James will keep watch. You're safe here."

"I am," he murmured, lips curling into a drugged smile.

There was cool metal at the base of his head, and Loki almost missed it when James withdrew to perch on the edge of the bed away from him. He closed his eyes, content.

"I think we're done here," Natasha murmured.

"No, no, don't go..." Loki moaned, eyes snapping open. "Don't leave."

"I meant the session, Loki," Natasha said firmly, pressing her hand onto his chest. It pushed his body further into the coverlet, and the pressure caused the welts on his ass and thighs to flare into heat again. He sucked in a breath, alert and awake, still content. "You didn't have to push me into it this way," she chided. "You could've just asked me."

"You're so happy without me," Loki heard himself say, not intending to admit it.

She sighed, chin dropping down. Her hair fell into her face, a red curtain obscuring her features from view. He lifted his hand to brush it away, hoping to see her eyes. He thought of how she looked at that gala weeks ago, vivid and alive, secure in her skin, sure of herself. It was such a contrast to how lost she was after Yelena's death, how she was when she thought she had killed James again. Now he was her shadow, starting to slip out of the Winter Soldier shell.

What did she need him for? Why had she ever needed him? What good could he do for her?

He pulled her down for a kiss, desperation still in his lips. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You'll never grieve me. Maybe there would be relief, maybe you'd miss me. But my absence wouldn't grieve you. Sometimes it hurts so much to know that."

Natasha curled her hand around his and brought it to her chest. "I do need you here."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe her _so badly._

James stood abruptly. "I'll leave. That'll be easier for you, Loki," he said. "I'm not what you need here, and I'll just be in the way."

Loki wanted to deny that, but all he could say was "Natasha needs you."

Turning to look at Loki with an eerily blank expression, James simply said "But you don't, and this is about you right now."

"But—"

"We all came to terms with this. Or at least, I thought we did," James told him. He looked to Natasha and murmured something in Russian, then left the bedroom.

"Did something happen to make you doubt yourself again?" Natasha asked, shifting to curl up around him.

His perfect peace was shattered. He couldn't even do this right, could he? Wrecked and exhausted physically, but now his mind whirred. "I don't belong anywhere, do I?"

"If you don't belong anywhere," Natasha said quietly, "then you can be anyone and anything."

"One of the tenets of the Red Room?" he guessed. At her quiet nod, Loki grasped her arm almost painfully tight. "But I want to. Belong somewhere. But I don't, and all these overtures mock me, they _hurt me._ I'm not like the others, I can't stay here and pretend I'm like them. I can't be what everyone wants me to be."

"You stand out too much."

"I—" Loki buried his face in Natasha's lap and let her hold him. It wasn't physical appearance; he had blended in with innocent passersby in New York plenty of times. He could even take the subway without glamour and be unnoticed, just another man taking mass transit. Anonymous and no one important, he could be undetected. If he had the gilt armor and horned helm, others would know him. Then they would fear him. Then they would know who he was, what he had tried to do five years ago, and there would be screams.

Suddenly, his mind slipped sideways. He and the other agencies were going about finding the Purple Man all wrong. It wasn't about who he was now. He was purple, and even in a city like New York, people would notice that. But he stole priceless antiquities and high end materials that would be found in an upscale home in the Upper West Side. He stole money without hurting others until the very end, in such a violent and personal way.

He might not be seen now, but the Purple Man _had_ been someone before. He had been seen, he had been known.

The key to finding him now would be knowing who he was before he was purple.

Loki let out a slow breath. "I'm not good enough," he told her slowly. "I can't shake who I was, who I used to be. Sometimes I don't want to. If I can't be loved, at least I can be feared."

Natasha carded her fingers through his hair gently. It was a soft touch, one they both enjoyed, and Loki leaned into it. "But if you're feared, no one gets close. It's another mask. Another layer to protect your innermost self, something else to keep you separated from others. It's still a lie, and it won't get you what you want."

"Which is?"

"You want to be needed. To be _known_ and appreciated. But when you get it, you don't know what to do with it, so you run. You hide behind the persona of awful brutality or asshole behavior. It's not what you want, but it's what you know you can deal with. It's harder to deal with the unknown. It's terrifying."

"How would you know? You seem to live without fear."

"No," she corrected softly. "I've just learned to use my fear. I'm afraid all the time. I hurt all the time. I pushed it aside and didn't let it take over. I worked because of my fear. In spite of my fear. That's why I fell apart. That's why you needed to help put me back together, to ground me in my body again."

He closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of her fingers on his temples. "In that regard, we are the same, then."

"I see you, Loki. As much as you see me, remember?"

It was terrifying then, it was still terrifying now. It just carried a gratifying edge, too.

"Stop being a dick, Loki. If you let them, other people might see more to you, too."

The thought of that caused his heart to seize in his chest. "They won't like what they see."

"Then move on. There are eleven million people in Manhattan alone. I think you can find a handful that you find tolerable."

"None of them are you."

"There's no one like me in the world," Natasha agreed. "You're not looking to replace me, Loki. You'd be looking for someone else to appreciate you."

"Maybe I don't want them to. Maybe all I want is you."

Natasha sighed but didn't stop stroking his hair. "Someday, I won't be enough."

Loki turned and surged up, pulling her down for a kiss. "That day is not today." Another kiss. "That day will not be tomorrow." Another kiss. "Or the next, or the one after that." A last, lingering kiss, her lower lip caught between his for a moment. "I will never tire of you, of trying to learn you, of keeping your regard." Pain flared sharp in his chest for a moment. "I may not have your true affection, but I would not lose what you do feel for me."

"How would James fit into that?"

"I don't know. But I don't loathe him."

She laughed softly. "It's a start, I suppose."

They would probably still have define the _thing_ between all of them, but at least Loki was content that he hadn't ruined everything with his stupid behavior. She could still take him apart and put him back together. She still felt _something,_ even if it wasn't easily named, even if it was less than what Loki wanted.

For now, he would have to be content.

***  
***


	3. Compare and Contrast

Feeling settled into his skin for a change, Loki cloaked himself in invisibility and materialized at Oscorp's laboratory in Midtown. Most of the damage had been repaired already, so that most visitors would barely be able to tell that a devastating fire had gone through it. He walked the halls, peeking into laboratories and making mental notes of the chemical names and project aliases, in case Maria could make sense of it. From what he could tell, these were projects in conjunction with the military in some way. It was the reason Rhodes and Danvers had arrived in New York, even if they managed to sneak in time with Tony.

From the lack of civilian projects in the repaired laboratories, Loki thought perhaps the explosion had been deliberate.

Next he went to the security offices. It was easy to glamour himself into the appearance of a guard with a touch of _seidr,_ and the hapless men on shift bought his lies. They went back in time to the security video of the day of the explosion. Much of their chatter was insensible to him, but that didn't matter. He nodded in all the right places, made his mental notes. And look, he wasn't even ensorcelling their minds! Natasha and Maria would be so proud of him.

"We haven't figured out who the guy is," one guard said with a shrug, showing Loki the video of a thin man breaking into the area. He went through a number of labs, rifling through files and computers, looking more agitated as time went on. He clearly was trying to steal something specific from Oscorp but couldn't find it. In his haste, he didn't close out file cabinet drawers or hoods in the labs, exposing various chemicals and experiments in progress.

"We also haven't figured out how those labs were empty at that time of day," the other guard supplied helpfully. "None of the researchers were able to explain it."

Hm. Perhaps this individual had a measure of persuasion before the explosion.

The man clearly grew angry and knocked over things in one lab, and shouted at someone that walked into the lab. The scientist – Loki had to guess based on his white coat, glasses and clipboard in hand – was startled and started to yell back. There was a tussle, and then the intruder took something off of one of the lab benches and smashed it over the scientist's head. He crumpled to the floor, knocking over a chair and flopping uselessly to the floor. The intruder backed up, suddenly horrified; Loki couldn't see it in the video, but he assumed there was a spreading pool of blood behind the lab bench. He backed up slowly, and then swept his arm over a bubbling set of glassware that the scientist had been using to decant something. His arm lit on fire, and the intruder flailed. The contents were knocked over, partially on the intruder and partially on the bench.

And then everything lit on fire.

The intruder tried to drop to the floor, but the flames didn't go out. He got up, and whatever he touched soon caught fire, including contents of the sterilization hood in the side of the lab. It exploded, throwing the intruder to the floor and blasting a large crater through the wall. The intruder was still alive and visibly panicked, then ran through the hole as the fire raged in the laboratory, growing large enough and hot enough to reach the security camera.

"You bet your ass the Air Force spooks got a copy of this," the first guard grumped. "But if they know who this guy is, they're not saying."

"No, I don't suppose they would," Loki mused.

Getting a screen shot of the clearest image of the intruder, he left and headed straight for the SHIELD office to meet Maria. He even went on foot, just to give him more time to think. The intruder knew what he was doing and where he was supposed to go. Someone had fed him information about what the Air Force was researching. Someone obviously knew what Oscorp was doing, and likely wanted it for themselves.

They were looking for a spy. The Air Force likely didn't know what they were dealing with, but Maria likely would.

***

James frowned at Loki, circling warily. They would have to figure out how best to fight alongside each other rather than against each other. If Natasha was involved, that was easy. She would either lead their actions or they worked in concert for her benefit. Outside of that, they rarely interacted. Steve thought it was a piss poor way of dealing with each other. While Natasha, Sif, Jane and Melinda went off to Greenwich Village for the day, James suggested sparring. It was a good enough start to talk to him without his magic apprentice.

They were both good at knives, and Loki wasn't very fond of pistols or sniper rifles. Hand to hand and knife fighting were good excuses to talk and work out limits, in James' view, and Loki seemed to agree.

"Yours is a more... distinctively direct style than Natasha's."

"I am the blunt force used," James replied. "I do what has to be done, the things that can't be known in public. It's always been that way."

"Assassinations?" Loki guessed, feinting to the right. He laughed mirthlessly when James didn't fall for it and scored a hit.

"Among other things," James agreed without inflection.

"And now? For the rest of them?"

"Still working that out."

"What's to work out? Steve wishes to fight alongside you again. Thor and Sam would like it as well," Loki told him.

James faltered, but regained his composure. "I still don't know if I should."

"Why not? They allow me in their midst, and I was fully an enemy. They still don't trust me. But you, they would. They want to."

"And I'm not going to fuck up that trust, all right? Not until I'm sure I won't!"

Loki rolled around his wild stab and then brought his blade against James' throat. The former assassin stilled rather than fight his way around it. "If you doubt yourself, you will fail. If you question, even once, that what you are doing is wrong, that you're on a path that will harm you, you will fail."

"That's what you do, isn't it? Compound the fuck ups until there's no going back?"

There was no heat in the question, so Loki didn't bristle. Odd, that. Usually he would. It must have been Natasha's influence on him. "It's what I do best."

"I can't be like that."

"Then do a trial run. Not just the scheduled sparring sessions, but truly fighting alongside them when it matters. Those nuisance jobs they take, go with them. See how you fare." Loki removed his knife from James' throat and stepped back, giving him a nod. "I think you will do better than you think."

"Why?"

"Because you care about them, you fool. You won't harm them if you care. You'd only harm them if you didn't care about them as people."

Understanding seemed to dawn on James' face. "And you know this because you're living it. You got to know them all, and now you might not like them all, but you _care_ about what happens to them. You don't want them getting fucked up, either."

"Steve is a good man. Sam is utterly trustworthy. Even Clint, as little cause as he has to speak with me, is willing to do so. And of course, there's Natasha."

"Of course," James echoed, lips quirking into a smile.

"So I believe they will assist you. They won't allow you to fail."

"I can't let 'em down, Loki."

It was strange how much James trusted him with that, but James wasn't expecting Loki to betray him using that information. And he had no interest to do so, not just because of Natasha and her love for this man. James had been so utterly destroyed by Department X, and Loki by now knew that visiting horrors on children and lost souls brought out his ire and need to protect.

And despite his jealousy, that included James.

"I won't allow you to. Neither will Natasha. And as much as you abhor their treatment of you in the beginning, you know the others won't either. They will keep you here until you come back to yourself should something happen."

That probably shouldn't have been as comforting as James found it. But he nodded, relief in his posture. "I wanna keep 'em safe, that's all. If I fall apart on 'em, that would be too much to take. I would rather stay hidden away than hurt them."

"You won't. In that, I am certain."

James obviously was comforted by that. Surprise of all surprises, Loki even meant it.

Perhaps that explained what happened later that day. Natasha had purchased new lingerie "just because," though it was a deep forest green in color. Of course Loki asked her to model it for him, and she teasingly stripped herself out of her clothes. As much as he wanted to fuck her right there, he remained patient and watched her ease into the satin and lace. Ah, it was torture indeed, but he remained patient as the flimsy garment was put into place. Loki sat on her bed, watching, managing to keep from drooling.

"Are you sure there is no purpose to this purchase?" Loki asked, almost ashamed that there was a slight rasp of desire to his voice.

She smirked at him and looked over her shoulder, the contortion of her body posture allowing him to see the curve of her breast and the swell of her rear. He wanted to taste her _so badly,_ and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from touching her.

"Maybe I wanted to reward good behavior," she purred.

Oh, by the Norns, _yes,_ that was her sultry domme voice.

Though he patted the bed beside him, he almost wanted to sink to his knees in front of her and worship her flesh with his tongue and lips. Perhaps he still could.

"Is there anything you desire, my lady?" he asked, desire clearly evident in his voice. He hoped that by the subservient question, she realized he was asking for another session where she would dominate the everliving fuck out of him. He needed it suddenly, even if he didn't feel raw inside his own skin, just because he craved her touch.

She understood, thankfully, and turned to face him head on. The lush curves in front of him were provocatively hugged by the satin and lace of the teddy, and she ran her hands up her torso to cup her own breasts. "This is what you want, isn't it, Loki?" she asked, teasingly flicking her thumbs over her nipples. "Think you've earned it?"

Loki hurried to recount his good deeds, which at this point were largely revolving around teaching Wanda how to work the _seidr_ and to give weight to her illusions. Natasha wound her fingers through his hair, and she shifted to press her left knee to the bed, half kneeling over him. Without her prompting, Loki pressed his face against her décolletage, inhaling her scent deeply and pressing his lips to her skin reverently.

Natasha shifted to sit beside him, crossing her legs demurely. "That's really all one thing," she pointed out archly. She sounded almost like a schoolteacher with her errant charges, and Loki suddenly wanted her to take that tone with him, _teach him_ to be worthy, to show him what she needed him to be in this moment, give him the way to earn her grace and good will, to see even a fraction of the blessed future that existed in an alternate reality.

Licking his lips, he thought furiously of other good deeds he might have done. He came up blank, and inside quailed that he wouldn't be good enough for Natasha's regard.

But she laughed, and turned to touch his cheek gently. "Oh, Loki. You've come so far, you have no idea, do you?" He looked at blankly, because no, what was she talking about?

Her kiss silenced him before he would have spoken to ask her, and she nibbled sensuously on his lower lip. "Even a year ago, I think you wouldn't have overlooked simple kindnesses toward others in this Tower. The visits to the VA for Sam's group, helping with them..."

"That helps me. It doesn't help _them._ Not even the few that have a glimmer of their earth magicks, their Wicca—"

She pressed her fingers against his lips and stood in front of him again. "You don't inflate the things you do anymore. Did you notice that?"

No, he hadn't. It hadn't even occurred to him to act in a grandiose manner around her anymore. He had nothing left to prove, not when she had already seen him at his worst and was still there with him, still willing to take him into her bed, still willing to endure his fits and whims and churlish behavior—

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" he rasped, looking up at her before he took her fingers into his mouth, between his lips. "Is this what love feels like?"

That startled her, but it gave him hope. Oh, he knew he loved her, that was obvious. But perhaps she never thought about it from her side of things. She loved her James, certainly. The odd feelings she had for him, perhaps it had grown into something almost like love. Nothing soft or tender as it was for James, but he would take even a harder, edged love. He enjoyed working with blades and live steel, after all. The comparison would give him joy.

She ran her nails along his cheek as she contemplated him. But instead of confirming or denying his words, she cupped the back of his neck. "You can worship me with your mouth. And until I say otherwise, only your mouth."

Oh yes, quite the reward for his good behavior.

Leaning forward, Loki took her breast into his mouth, laving her nipple through the green satin. He didn't touch her with his hands, not when she didn't command it, and simply worked at her breast until her breath hitched. Then he switched to her other breast, giving it the same attention he paid the first. Natasha slid one hand along his shoulder and kept the other at the back of his head, subtle direction to continue with his touch. He liked this, it started getting her hot and bothered and ready for his touch.

But Loki wasn't interested in having her discipline him on this day. He was feeling generous and _happy,_ which was a surprise on most days. It was a joy to lavish this kind of attention on Natasha, to feel her respond to him, to know that there was no artifice at all, a genuine enjoyment on her part. This was no role, no job, no bargain.

Natasha removed her hands from him long enough to slide her arms through the straps holding the top in place. The fabric fell to his forehead, but Loki still didn't move. She hadn't given him the command. It made her laugh when she realized it, but she pulled him away with a sharp jerk of her hand in his hair. Loki laughed, looking up at her with a rapt expression. "You do like following my directions in this," she said.

"Oh, yes," Loki breathed. He quirked his lips into an insouciant smile. "Agent Romanoff."

She pulled on his hair, tipping his head backward. "Are you being defiant, Loki? Forgetting your place here?"

"Not at all. My place is where you put me. Preferably under you."

Another sharp tug on his hair made him gasp. "You don't direct me, Loki. Just for that, get up."

He hurried to do her bidding, wondering what she would do in response to his suggestion. Loki didn't want this to end, and by the scent of her, neither did she. So it took a great deal of effort to keep from laughing delightedly when she removed the flimsy garment and laid across her bed, legs spread wide. "Kneel," she commanded, lips quirking at him.

Loki did so immediately, mouth practically watering at the thought of tasting her. "My lady, I am yours to command."

"Then get to fucking with your mouth, Loki. No hands except to hold me steady."

Well, that only meant he couldn't slide his fingers inside her. No matter, he could make her come with his tongue alone. Loki licked at her clit in earnest, circles and swirls around that sensitive nub, even after her breathing grew harsh and fractured. Her thighs trembled, and it was only when the tremors threatened to have her legs fall shut did he reach up to hold her open to his tongue and lips. Sucking gently on her clit made her keen and arch, pinching her own breasts and trying to keep from writhing on the bed. Loki kept going until she came, crying out sharply before falling limp. She hadn't told him to stop at the single orgasm, so he moved to lick at her clit again, slow circles as she came down from her high. After plunging his tongue into her slit, he licked at her again.

Natasha's cries only urged him to continue, to delve deeply into her, to lick inside her as far as he could go. Dimly, he heard someone enter her bedroom. That would only be James, especially with Natasha keeping her welcoming pose.

"C'mere, James," she gasped, shifting to reach out for him. "Take that off."

James may have chuckled at her eagerness, but Loki didn't care. Her thighs trembled on either side of his head, and there was one hand on his head, nails scratching at his scalp erratically. She was close, so close, and he could easily bring her over the edge again.

Looking up as he moved to her clit again, Loki saw that James had dropped his trousers and underwear, and Natasha had taken his cock into her mouth. That explained her muffled cries very well. James cradled the back of her head with his metal hand and stroked her jaw with his fingers tenderly. Not to be outdone, Loki reached up with one hand to stroke a breast and brush his fingers across her nipple. Natasha moaned, arching up into his touch. The hand at his head twitched, and she reached up with her other one to grab James' ass and squeeze.

Once she came, Loki pulled back to lick his slick lips and ease his jaw. "My lady," he rasped, breath coming in heaving gasps. She twitched at the sensation of his breath over her wet skin, making him grin lasciviously. "I want my cock inside you."

Natasha let go of James' cock long enough to answer. "Yes. Now."

Loki was only too glad to shift back and cheat, using a spell to strip his clothes away. That allowed him to slide his hands beneath her hips and shift them upward. He lined up his cock with her entrance, and slid home in a single thrust. Natasha moaned and nuzzled James' balls and cock, pulling his hips close to her mouth again. James had his eyes on her alone, murmuring something in Russian. She laughed, then drew his cock back into her mouth.

Drawing his eyes away from the way her jaw moved, Loki kept up a steady rhythm as he fucked into her. Natasha squeezed tightly around him, her hand moving to grasp his wrist. Ah, her nails raked across the sensitive skin over his pulse, and he groaned at that. So close, embarrassingly close, almost ready to spill into her like a boy with a first lover. _I love you,_ he said in Allspeak, voice fracturing. She scratched him again, pulling on his wrist as if to tell him to go harder, faster, keep this up, and it was enough to get him to come.

James growled out something in Russian, his back arching and eyes closing as Natasha worked on him. He was close, had to be, and then he shouted, body taut with tension. It abruptly bled out of him, and Loki watched Natasha convulsively swallow. He shouldn't have found that as hot as he did, shouldn't have wanted her again as much as he did.

His refractory period was nearly as short as Loki's could be with magic, and he cursed himself for forgetting to spell himself prior to this. He had to lie beside Natasha and be content with stroking and mouthing her breasts as James moved to fuck her, easily sliding into her slick warmth, Loki's seed smeared across her thighs. She was well used, languid and boneless beneath them, lips curling sensuously as she received her pleasure.

Nipping at her earlobe, Loki murmured "I would do anything for you, my Natasha."

She turned and kissed him, and the faint aftertaste of James' come didn't even bother him, not when her tongue was invading his mouth, her hand on his arm to keep him close. "Keep doing what you're doing," she gasped. "Give me excuses to reward you."

He could oblige her easily. "My pleasure."

And then she was coming, arching up nearly off the bed, letting Loki cradle her torso as James pounded into her hard and fast, a rough edge that she loved, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tried to ride out the squeezing of her inner muscles until she finished coming. Only then did he allow himself to come inside her, slowing down and then stopping.

They all had a slick sheen of sweat to their skin, the sheets were a tangled mess and Natasha was sprawled between Loki and James. He should have probably felt jealous or unmanned, that he wasn't enough to satiate her appetites. But he didn't feel that way at all. Loki slid a hand across her stomach without any possessive intent. He was here with her, and she had given him the orders he wanted to get. He'd pleasured her himself and didn't stop her from taking her pleasure in James. And he would never come between her and James, not when doing so would upset her and make her lose what respect she might have had for him.

More than that, he didn't even want to come between them. He didn't think of James bedding Natasha in a frenzy of jealousy, which surprised him now that he thought about it. Seeing the two of them together, having her invite James to her bed even as Loki was in it, didn't make him feel less capable or full of _argr._ He simply... was. James didn't resent Loki's presence or belittle his affections, didn't question Natasha's desire to keep him close. And Loki was finding that he genuinely liked the man and his style of attack. It was like having a brother without the pain and drama, without the constant battles he had with Thor for dominance and esteem. None of that mattered to James at all.

"This works," Loki murmured, wonder in his voice.

Natasha merely gave him a satisfied grin. "So we keep doing this."

"Yes." He kissed her, pleased with himself, with her satisfaction in him, with her esteem. He never would have guessed that this was possible, that he could feel whole in this moment, that he wouldn't fear the coming darkness that would grow inside his empty soul.

She would save him. The others would, too. Loki would even let them.

***

Zebediah Killgrave was surrounded by the luxuries he never had as a boy, all the creature comforts he had envied in others. Oh, he wasn't supposed to; Czechoslovakia in the 90's had still been a place where the populace wasn't supposed to have ostentatious living. Slipping out of the country into Western Europe had only whetted his appetite. It was easy to slip into different intelligence communities and work as a spy. Facile with multiple languages and having an eidetic memory, it really was the ideal profession for him. He really had no allegiance to any particular country, and had no compunction about selling secrets between them.

Eventually, Zebediah continued his westward travels and wound up in the US. He had already gone from spy to mercenary, still without the nest egg he wanted to have. Stealing from Oscorp was supposed to give him the payout of a lifetime, but instead everything exploded.

And in the aftermath, he was _purple._ And had the power of suggestion.

So why not get the nice things he always wanted? Why not get the payout to live comfortably?

Before the accident, he had flirted with a waitress at his favorite café. There was no way to return in person, not when he was so noticeable, so remarkable. Funny how he used to wish that others could _see_ him, and now he didn't want them to.

It was easy to track her down and see her right before she was about to go on shift. Without even thinking twice, Zebediah told Melanie they were married, _newlyweds,_ and he had a surprise for her at their new apartment. She grinned at him, wide and sweet, eyes crinkling in the corners. She was in uniform, had her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her blue eyes sparkled. She followed him to his safe house in Midtown without question, and they had a fantastic honeymoon. It was everything Zebediah thought it would be, and she tasted as sweet as he thought she would. He was utterly in love, and she loved him back.

Life was _perfect._

When the door crashed in, Zebediah was unprepared. He had been lying in bed with Melanie, who dozed out of exhaustion. She was sprawled across him, her pale skin such a contrast to his purple tones. The press of her naked breast against his chest was delicious, and for the moment he was sated. He carded his fingers through her hair, a smile on his face.

The crashing sound startled him so much he fell out of bed and bumped his head on the bedside table. _Damn these tall beds,_ he thought, dazed. Melanie made a murmuring sound, but she was still asleep, sprawled across the bed.

Looking up, he saw a tall man dressed in black and green with a golden horned helmet, and beside him was a woman in a red leotard, red tights and red cape. Her black hair was spilling out in a mess of curls, and she pushed them away from her face impatiently.

"What the fuck is this?" Zebediah snarled, getting to his feet. "Get out of my house!"

They laughed at him. _They laughed at him._

The woman raised her hands, red light coating her palm. "Let me take care of this."

"I'll make sure you don't do something catastrophic," the man agreed.

The red light shot across the space between them, then wrapped itself around him. The light was warm, and he felt almost as if something was rifling around his insides. Zebediah opened his mouth, maybe to scream, maybe to tell her to go away. As he did so, the light suddenly died, and he crashed down to the floor. It was a painful reminder that he was naked.

When her eyes fell to Melanie, the curiosity there made Zebediah panic. "Don't you touch her!" he shouted. "She's mine!"

"Yours," the woman murmured. "Did she get a choice in that?"

He ignored the contemptuous note to her voice. It didn't matter what she thought, anyway. No one else would understand what he felt for Melanie, that their love had to be real. She hadn't known it, that was all. He had unlocked its presence in her mind. She wouldn't smile so sweet or respond so well to his touch otherwise.

 _"Don't touch her!"_ Zebediah shouted when the woman reached out for Melanie. She ignored him, so he started struggling against the bonds holding him in place. His panic flared almost instantly, an ugly, awful feeling in the center of his chest. This woman should have been obeying his command. This man should be listening to him, not laughing. They shouldn't be even contemplating Melanie, not with his newfound gift. She was his bride, his love. If anything happened to that...

The woman wiggled her fingers, red light curling around them and then floating across to Melanie's prone form. Ignoring his shouting, the light wrapped around her head and neck, sinking into her skin. She watched as Melanie twitched violently, her eyes shooting open and jaws stretching wide in a silent scream. Turning over, Melanie didn't notice that she was naked. She was too busy taking in her surroundings, with the look of someone just waking up from a series of long dreams. The man and woman attacking Zebediah didn't leer at her, at least, but they noticed the growing look of horror in Melanie's eyes. She looked at Zebediah, then the others, and started to scream, yanking a sheet to cover her nakedness.

"I take it this wasn't a voluntary bout of isolation?" the man asked in dry tones.

Melanie looked at him helplessly. "What's going on? Why am I here?" There was a faint note of hysteria in her voice, and Zebediah wanted to soothe it away. She shouldn't be worried about these strangers, about what was going on around her. She should be content, satisfied with his love for her, secure in the knowledge that he would take care of her.

But no, these people had just ruined _everything._

The woman shot Zebediah another nasty look that he ignored. She moved over to Melanie's side and quietly sat beside her. "We're here to help," she began slowly, careful not to touch Melanie without permission from her. That was good, but she should have asked Zebediah. Not that he was going to give it to her, the interloper.

She looked over at the man when she realized that Melanie was staring at Zebediah, a look of horror and loathing on her face. Zebediah wanted to erase it, but he was caught, and something about their demeanor told him that trying anything to change Melanie's mind would not be tolerated at all.

"I'll take care of this."

"Please." He looked vaguely uncomfortable with Melanie's emotional outburst as she started crying, the sheet twisted nervously in her hands. When he looked at Zebediah, it felt as though he was staring into the abyss of Hell itself.

The ladies moved to a different room in the apartment, and Melanie covered her nudity so that Zebediah couldn't see her precious body any longer. Damn these two for ruining everything!

"You should know that commanding someone to obey your sexual cravings doesn't make it love. It doesn't mean there is genuine concern over your wellbeing. It doesn't mean you have any emotional connection at all."

The condemnation stung. "Melanie loves me."

"Not without your coercion. And if it's coerced, it's rape. It isn't love at all."

Zebediah deflated. "I love her. And she loves me. Melanie loves me..."

"Don't delude yourself," the man sneered. He made a slashing motion with his hand as there was a bright scarlet light off to the side where the woman had disappeared with Melanie.

Zebediah wanted to scream. His entire dream was falling down around him.

The slashed air revealed another location through it. _Magic._ There was a woman with dark hair in a business suit at a desk, going through piles of paperwork, an aggrieved expression on her face. "I found him. Chemical exposure altering pheromones and acoustics in his voice so that he had the power of suggestion."

She was about to reply when she noticed Zebediah's bound form. Frowning, she flicked her eyes at the man. "I assume you took care of that, Trickster?"

Trickster smirked. "I let my apprentice do that. The Scarlet Witch. She did lovely work. The compulsive powers have been stripped and erased from all existence. It sometimes takes an extra touch to remove the compulsion from victims, and she's with one of them now."

The woman frowned at Trickster. "A victim? You mean there's one there?"

Zebediah snarled at Trickster. "Melanie loves me. _She loves me."_

"And would she love you if you hadn't compelled her? Would she stay if you didn't desire her to?" the Trickster asked him. The woman through the portal watched, gaze sharp and assessing, waiting for Zebediah's answer.

But he couldn't answer. They all knew what it would be.

"I'll bring him in. The Scarlet Witch is with Melanie now. I believe she'll need to speak with one of your counselors. It would be fairly traumatic to realize all that happened."

The woman seemed impressed with the Trickster. "Rather empathetic of you."

"I am capable of such things on occasion," he replied haughtily. But apparently he had no such empathy for Zebediah, because he whirled around, grasped him by the arm and hurled him through the portal so that he landed at the brunette's feet. "You know what to do with such trash, Agent Hill. I will teach the Scarlet Witch the trick of portals, and we'll bring Melanie to you separately, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Agent Hill replied. When she looked down at Zebediah, he got a chill that had nothing to do with his nakedness. "There's enough with this case right now. Tell her to take all the time she needs, and we'll debrief you both afterward."

The Trickster's grin was sharklike, sharp teeth flashing. It would haunt Zebediah's nightmares for years to come.

***

Closing her eyes, Selene could reach out and feel the shift of magic and psychic energies; something odd was happening on that realm. Sparks were setting off cascades of magic and dangerous activities. That world didn't really value magic anyway. They wouldn't even care if it was gone, rather like the people of Jotunheim. Midgard was as good a place as any to begin siphoning off energies again. Not because she _had to,_ mind, but because she _wanted to,_ and the realm was bursting at the seams with fools that couldn't value the life that the Norns had given them. She might as well take it from them.

It would indeed be delicious.

The End


End file.
